


Cocktail Party

by bellagerantalii



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: The First Avenger, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Semi-Public Sex, The Howling Commandos Are Great Bros, historical setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4402994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellagerantalii/pseuds/bellagerantalii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We are in the fucking White House, Rogers. The man we just walked out on is the same guy who you promised me was going to change the world back in 1932, and oh, yeah, he’s now the President of the United States.”</p>
<p>“We didn’t walk out on Franklin Roosevelt,” Steve insists, even though he knows that’s kind of what just happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cocktail Party

“I swear to god, if I get blown to hell in this thing, the first thing I’m doing is finding Erskine and asking him why he thought it was a good idea to make you even more self-righteous,” Bucky snips, grabbing ahold of Steve’s wrist and pulling him down the hall, away from the brightly lit cocktail party and the two Marines stationed outside the door. “I swear to god, it’s a goddamn cocktail party. We are on leave, Steve.”

Steve lets Bucky lead him down the hall, well aware that his bad attitude is showing on his face. He never was a very good liar, and he never quite got the hang of political glad-handing, even after months on tour with the USO.

“I just wanted to do something _useful_ ,” he retorts, emphasizing the last word as they round a corner. Steve isn’t sure if Bucky’s looking for an exit or a quiet corner, but his main objective seems to be getting the hell away from the party, which Steve is all for. “Lazing around Washington and attending cocktail parties with politicians is not what I had in mind.”

Bucky stops in his tracks, turns on his heel, a difficult task on the plush carpet of the hallway, and fixes Steve with an indignant look that’s mixed with resignation and absolute exhaustion. 

“We are in the fucking White House, Rogers. The man we just walked out on is the same guy who you _promised_ me was going to change the world back in 1932, and oh, yeah, he’s now the President of the United States.”

“We didn’t walk out on Franklin Roosevelt,” Steve insists, even though he knows that’s kind of what just happened. 

“Well we will unless you get yourself together.”

“They won’t talk about the war, Buck! All they seem to care about is what senator slept with whose wife and downing as much liquor as they—“

“Of course they don’t talk about the war, it’s what they spend every other goddamn minute of their day thinking about!” Bucky says, trying to keep his voice low. He looks around, sees that he and Steve are alone in the expanse of hallway, and shoves open the nearest door. It opens into a broom closet, and Bucky pulls Steve inside and shuts the door with one swift movement. 

“Do you see how tired that man is?” Bucky asks. Even in the darkness of the closet, Steve can see Bucky almost as clear as day, but he is only just now struck by how tired Bucky himself looks. Despite three night’s uninterrupted sleep, several hot meals, and a welcome break from combat, there are still dark circles under Bucky’s eyes, and it looks like he’s putting in actual effort to maintain his characteristic easy, shoulders-back posture. At least he looks better than the President, who Steve, privately of course, would compare to a corpse.

“He looks like a corpse, Buck,” Steve admits, deflating a little, and Bucky loosens his grip on Steve’s wrist. 

“Exactly. And yet, he’s still taking time to talk to Dernier about his village, which we _haven’t_ had the chance to liberate yet, by the way. He’s swapping tall tales about London high society with Falsworth, and he’s introduced Dum-Dum to some Hollywood starlet. Hell, Gabe’s been talking with Mrs. Roosevelt for over an hour.”

“But these people have no idea what—“

“Maybe not as much as _you’d_ like, but it’s damn good enough for the rest of us, Steve,” Bucky says, taking his hand off of Steve’s wrist and settling both his hands on Steve’s chest, apparently smoothing out the already flat lapels, but letting his hands linger. 

Steve sees Bucky’s point, he really does, and he doesn’t want to spoil this night for his men. They’ve earned some rest and some fun, and he doesn’t want to take that away from them. After tonight, most of them will head back to home for another week—Morita is already on the train to Colorado, to visit his family there. 

Thinking about _that_ gets Steve riled up again. 

“I don’t want to make nice with people who send their own citizens to concentration camps.”

“Can you stop looking for a fight for five fucking minutes?” Bucky cries, taking his hands off of Steve and backing away a step, not that he has much room to move in the cramped closet. “Do I have to remind you that I’m your sergeant? That’s it’s my job to make sure you officers know what— _mph_ ”

Steve closes the short distance between them, shoving Bucky up against shelves filled with cleaning supplies, silencing his friend midsentence.

Bucky seems to protest at first, refusing to open his mouth as Steve presses their lips together, attempting to coax Bucky by catching his upper lip in his teeth. But Bucky remains immoveable. He eventually manages to shove Steve with enough force not only to fend him off, but also to send him stumbling into the shelves of buckets and cleaning supplies behind him.

“This is _not_ the time, Rogers,” he says, rubbing at his swollen lip.

“You got a better idea?” Steve rejoins, righting some of the cleaning supplies that were upset by his stumble. 

“A better idea than having sex in the President’s broom closet? Yeah, I can think of a few.”

“Anything besides going back to the party?”

“Well, I’d like to go back home and see my sisters, maybe have my mom cook up a nice dinner for me. I’d like to sleep in my own bed for once. I’d like to show my gran all my shiny medals… I have plenty of ideas, Steve,”

“Buck…” Steve says, almost at a loss for words. “I thought… I thought you said it didn’t matter—“

“Well someone has to be around to watch your ass,” Bucky replies, slumping against the shelves behind him and narrowing his eyes on Steve. 

“You could go home. You could leave tonight, on the last train. You’d be at Grand Central by morning,” Steve says, taking a half step towards Bucky, his hands held up awkwardly near his waist. 

“And leave you to suffer with all these politicians? I don’t think so.”

“I’ll keep my mouth shut. I’ll behave,” Steve says feebly, because they both know that’s a lie. He takes another step so that he’s just inches from Bucky, the gap between them almost closed. Steve reaches his hands out, and after a curt nod from Bucky, wraps them around his waist. Bucky dips his head forward, and Steve presses their foreheads together.

“You should go home,” Steve whispers, running his hands gently up and down Bucky’s waist as Bucky hooks his fingers through Steve’s belt loops. 

“It’s as much your home as mine,” Bucky tells him. “We can put the couch cushions on the floor again. All you have to do is let my mom feed you and let the girls ask you a million questions about what it’s like to be Captain America.”

“I promised I’d be in Washington this week. I can’t—“

“Yes you can, Steve. Nobody’s gonna complain about Captain America using his leave to spend time with his family. And don’t give me that look, you punk. My mom always liked you better anyways.”

Steve chuckles, finally smiling. “Guess she never realized I was the one picking all the fights.”

“You always were the trouble maker in this relationship,” Bucky says, smiling like he means it. “Like right now, for instance. You’re refusing to let me whisk you away to Brooklyn, all because you want to torture yourself and some senators for a whole week.”

“I thought you were trying to convince me not to walk out on the President of the United States.”

“That would just be rude, even if he isn’t giving you enough attention,” Bucky says, a hint of innuendo coloring his voice. 

“S’all right with me. I got my eye on someone else, anyway,” Steve says, leaning in closer to Bucky.

This time, when they kiss, Bucky doesn’t resist. He opens his mouth and lets Steve in, sucking on his tongue and running his teeth over his lips, moaning softly when Steve pulls away in order to trail some soft kisses down his neck.

“Sorry I’ve been such an ass,” Steve says into the skin at the base of Bucky’s neck. He’s divested Bucky of his jacket, and currently working on getting the top buttons of his shirt open for easier access to Bucky’s skin. 

“Not like you can help it,” Bucky says, carding his fingers lightly through Steve’s hair, careful not to mess it up too much. They are in the White House, after all, even if they are about to make out in the broom closet. 

Steve finds an expanse of skin that will be hidden under Bucky’s shirt once he’s buttoned up again, and his soft kisses turn rougher. He uses his teeth, sucking hickies into Bucky’s skin and then gently licking over then, humming as Bucky tries to keep quiet. Bucky’s half-hard already, and is starting to think they may just have to skip out early when Steve’s mouth is suddenly on his, and his hands are pawing at Bucky’s belt.

“Mmph—stop, Steve, stop,” Bucky manages, disentangling himself from Steve’s mouth and pushing his hands away. Steve makes a small, disappointed sound, and pulls out the puppy eyes.

“Buck, what—“

“Do you promise to be nice out there?” Bucky asks, grinding his hips against Steve’s.

“ _Yes_ , Bucky, _oh_ ,”

“Do you promise to put your mouth to better use in here?” Bucky says, guiding Steve’s hands back to his belt buckle. 

“ _Yes_ , you tease, now let me—“

“Do you promise to come home with me tonight?” Bucky asks. He worries with his lower lip, and looks up at Steve through his eyelashes. Steve’s eyes are lidded and heavy, his entire body flushed and trembling.

“Buck, I don’t—“ he says, still fumbling with the belt buckle. Bucky catches Steve’s hands, stilling them as Steve lets out a low growl.

“Well then I guess we’ll just have to wait for reunion sex, hmm?”

“That’s not fair, Bucky.”

“Reunion sex is the best kind, Stevie. It’ll be even better if we hold off now.”

Steve growls again, grinding against Bucky’s erection to make his point. 

“All you have to do is say yes,” Bucky grins, pressing his lips to Steve’s and running his tongue over Steve’s teeth. “Come on, Stevie.”

“Hmmmpph.”

“You have such a pretty mouth Steve, if you would only use it properly.”

Steve pulls away and huffs. 

“Fine. Yes, yes, I’ll go home with you. Now will you let me—“

Bucky pulls Steve in for another messy kiss before shoving him to his knees. Steve undoes Bucky’s belt, pushing it out of the way and ripping at the buttons of his fly. Bucky grips one of the shelves behind him, watching as Steve shoves his pants to the ground and moves in to—

Bucky moans as Steve mouths at his erection through the white cotton of his underwear, running his tongue up and down his cock. It’s so nice to have clean, soft underwear, and the sensation reminds Bucky distantly of times they’d done this before the war. He’d loved it then, and he loves it just as much now.

Steve runs his hands over and up Bucky’s thighs, up towards his waistband of his underwear, and beings to pull it down slowly so that Bucky can feel the full effects of the cool cotton, lightly soaked with Steve’s spit and with drops of Bucky’s own precome. Bucky lets out a hiss as Steve drags the last bit of it over him, and then Bucky’s cock springs free, precome already pearling at the swollen head. 

“Fuck, Bucky,” Steve says, taking hold of the base and pressing a soft, gentle kiss to the head. 

“Get on with it,” Bucky says around a moan. “We don’t got all day.”

Steve needs no more encouragement, opening his mouth and taking Bucky in slowly, inch by agonizing inch. He swirls his tongue over the head, tonguing at Bucky’s slit, earning a hiss from Bucky as his hips shudder forward. Steve just opens his mouth wider and takes Bucky all the way down, and the sight and sensation of Steve trailing up and down his cock causes Bucky’s hips to thrust forward again. Somehow smiling, Steve moves his hands to Bucky’s hips, gripping them and pulling them forward, guiding Bucky into fucking his mouth. 

“Stevie, you’re, you’re just, oh—“ Bucky cries, releasing one hand from its grip on the shelf and carding it through Steve’s hair, gripping it near the roots and pulling him forward as he thrusts. 

“Steve, you’re so good, I can’t—“

 

“Did you see where Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes got to?” asks the President of the United States.

“Think they went out to have a smoke, sir,” Dum-Dum replies.

The President raises his eyebrows, looking pointedly at the cigarette in his own hand. 

“Uhh, I think it’s an old habit, sir. Barnes used to smoke outside when Rogers had asthma,” Falsworth supplies.

“And did Captain Rogers always accompany Barnes when he removed himself for his benefit?”

“Steve may have gone to find the, uh, lavatory,” says Gabe, and he looks slightly ashamed that he had to say the word “lavatory” to the President.

“Then he probably met Barnes on the way back, you know, to keep him company,” Dum-Dum adds.

A woman screeches across the room. Dernier has just spilled his drink on some Washington socialite. 

“Je suis désolé, I am so sorry, Mademoiselle Lane! I really didn’t mean—“

 

“ _Jesus_ , fuck, oh fuck, _Steve_ ,”

**Author's Note:**

> FDR's daily cocktail hours were an actual part of his administration. He'd gather his aids and friends around at the end of the day, and no one was allowed to talk about politics or the War.


End file.
